


P2X-091

by thesilverarrow



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mind Meld, both of them are pretty keen on the notion of OT4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/thesilverarrow





	P2X-091

The first thing he says to Beckett, when they get to the cave that is their homebase, is probably really amusing to everyone but him:

"For fuck's sake" – great, now he's talking like the man – "would someone please give him one of those knock-out shots so I can have some peace?"

He can feel more than hear Rodney's derisive snort. And the voice in the back of his brain says: _If one of us is going to lose consciousness, it probably shouldn't be the physicist, just saying._

It surprises him, then, what actually comes out of Rodney's mouth:

"I'd happily take one for the team if we were still being pursued, but we've lost them by now – thank you, Pegasus Tarzan – and we need me to set up the shield."

Beckett murmurs, "Well, I hardly think anyone needs to be rendered unconscious for that, let alone Ronon."

Rodney's laugh echoes through his mind in a way that feels pleasant, conspiratorial. Could it be that the man always had this kind of fondness for –

"Yes, of course I have, you great hulking redneck samurai," he says. "This mindreading crap is just as unpleasant for me, I have you know. I don't think anyone would believe how much stuff is stewing around inside your brain, probably more than most since so little of it actually comes out of your mouth. And, Jesus God, don't you dare keep thinking about stew."

He thinks at Rodney, _You like stew_.

"Well, you like the way Dr. Beckett's ass looks in those pants, but I have the good grace not to fill your brain with it."

Ronon's not altogether sure Rodney realizes he said that out loud until he hears it echo off the cave walls. Beckett looks slightly embarrassed but mostly amused, thankfully.

Rodney's about to sputter out something else when a curious thing happens: the momentary image of Beckett's admittedly nice rear end gives way to a very clear picture of his own ass, something that could not possibly come from his own mind.

"Christ," Rodney says, covering his face with his hands.

Ronon smiles, and he smiles even wider when he feels Rodney's reaction to that smile. As a peace offering, he thinks, _You're not so bad yourself when you stop talking for half a second._

Rodney is still flushed after their long escape, but he somehow grows even redder.

Grimacing, Rodney says, "Okay, so, truce?"

"Well, we can try."

*

After a couple of hours apart, Rodney finds him in one of the darker rear caves, swinging his sword rhythmically but absentmindedly. It's not like they've stopped hearing each other, but a bit of calm and focus means they're no longer piping thoughts directly to each other, just overhearing. Thankfully, most of Rodney's mental output has been an unintelligible series of calculations, with a shocking undercurrent of control, once you look past the hypochondria and intermittent inferiority complex.

"You're Peter Parker," Rodney says, leaning up against the wall, well out of sword range.

"McKay?"

"It's not like I'm trying to spy. I just get some things about you now, I think."

_Doubt it,_ he thinks, the words echoing through his thoughts, and he's unable to stop himself from feeling it hard enough he can read it in McKay's eyes.

_Fair enough_ , Rodney thinks.

Stopping the swinging motion of his arm, Ronon asks, "Who is this Peter Parker? One of your folk heroes?"

"Something like that," he replies with a smile.

All at once, in his mind's eye he's looking at the same picture world he's been mostly ignoring for the last half an hour. Even with this focus, it's confusing as hell, like trying to remember a dream. There's a camera and a spider and a lot of tall, tall buildings, but also a farm and an old woman and something about responsibility.

The only thing that comes all that clear to him is how Rodney interprets him, based on this story: there is a normal kid, then a transformation, then a fighter.

"You were never meant to be this person, were you?" Rodney says.

That hurts a little, and he's not sure why, not sure which of his selves is being insulted here.

"Neither were you."

"Of course not. It's ludicrous that I'm running around on an alien planet, saving the universe. You, though, I would never have thought…"  


"You knew I had a life before."

"Yes, and you'll have to tell me more about it sometime." He must give him a skeptical look, because Rodney thinks – or feels – at him, _being honest, for chrissakes_. "But I'm talking about who you are now."  


"Who am I, then?"

"Still working on that. I wasn't kidding when I said there was too much crammed into your brain. But I do know you're scared. Not of this – this is, somehow, mostly just an annoyance to you, and thank you for having the faith that I'll figure out how to fix things, by the way – but of being here." _Waiting for them to find us._

Ronon nods.

"Why?" McKay asks. "I know why I'm scared, but—"

"You're not, though," he says with a sigh.

Funny, but he can't tell if he's just reading Rodney's expressive face or actually hearing his thoughts: _You_ _crazy?_

"Look," Ronon says, "you were freaked out when we were running, but now that we're here, you're in your element. Don't confuse fear with pressure."

Rodney accepts that easily enough, and Ronon can practically hear him turning back to the question at hand – to Ronon – and coming to a realization.

"It was the opposite for you," Rodney finally says. _The run is your element_.

_But I never get used to it_ , he thinks back at him. He can see the word _never_ , in his native tongue, traveling back and back, along every path he traveled, through knotted woods, dusty plains, endless swamps, abandoned homes, desolated villages, back and back until—

Suddenly, Rodney has crossed the room and his hand is solid on his bicep, gripping tightly enough to make his other arm twitch, as if to draw his gun, not that he does.

At the contact, he can't help the kinds of things that well up in his heart. He blames McKay, because there's a sudden outpouring of panic and concern flooding into his mind.

He doesn't know how much of what he himself feels is plain in his thoughts until Rodney thinks at him: _Harder now that you're burdened with us._

"Not a burden," he says. "But, yeah, there are tradeoffs." _I worry_.

"I know. Now."

McKay lets him go then, or at least he releases his arm and takes a few steps back, to resume his place leaning against the wall. His mind is still there, though, and he's actively probing. And, okay, half-unconsciously counting the stalactites on the—

_Stalagmites. They might fall. The others hold tight to the ground. Do you use mnemonics in your culture? They're these tricks to remember what—_

"You're exhausting," Ronon says.

"Tell me about it."  


"I'm serious. How are you you?"

"I don't know. More important question: How did I not know you wanted to jump my bones when you first came to Atlantis?"

_I wondered if you figured that out._

_About half an hour ago._

"So…?"

"I got over it," Ronon says.

It takes Ronon a moment to process that Rodney's reply is a clear burst of Satedan, a word that roughly translates to _bullshit, and you know it_ , although he manages to inflect it with uncertainty, which shouldn't be possible. Then he just waits – apparently to see what kinds of things will come to the surface of Ronon's tired brain.

The problem is, when he can get his mind off Rodney's ass—

_You kinda have a thing, don't you?_

"Shut it," he murmurs, frowning.  


\--and his thighs and, _no, stop_ – onto other things, he's unable to keep out the lazy curve of Sheppard's smirking mouth, and his perfect tight shoulders—

"Interesting," Rodney says, then he quickly bounces back his own even more lascivious observations of their team leader.

_Your thing, too, I see_ , he tosses at him.

_I do have eyes._

And then there's—

_Teyla_ , Rodney suddenly thinks.

_Dangerous_.

The actual word he uses is Satedan, but Rodney gets the drift. Still, her face comes into his mind, and it's amazing how differently Rodney sees her, yet he still identifies the same Teyla-ness that Ronon does. Or maybe their thoughts are blending now.

The next thing Rodney thinks about, oddly enough, is an image of her working with her stick – which turns out to be not so strange, really, since it involves so much sweat and heaving breasts and Teyla straddling John's chest, looking at him like--

"Do you think they're…?" 

_I think they probably should be._

Something about the moment, maybe the perfect harmony of it, allows them to disengage from each other a little bit. Rodney's mind seems a little more blurry to him again. Left without a voice to tune in and tune out, he finds that his body is itching to do something

"Come on," Rodney suddenly says, pushing himself back off the wall again. "This is probably the perfect time to teach me these fighting skills you keep saying I need to learn."

"I guess it would let us get out of our heads for a while."  


"In them, I was thinking. While we're in sync like this."

_Dangerous_ , he thinks to himself again, this time in Rodney's language. He's seeing the two of them locked in a throwing stance, and while nothing is happening yet, he can feel that it could be, would be. And that it would – it will – be way more careful than he might've assumed, just before it's way rougher than he ever imagined.

And, suddenly, his mind his filled with numbers again. Not even equations this time, just numerals marching in twos and forming long strings.

Rodney sounds a little panicked when he asks, "Which of us…?"

He's a little thrown, himself, because he honestly has no idea. Deliberately, he gives a nonchalant shrug and a smile.

_Oh, sure_ , the voice in his head says. _Just your basic mind-meld sexual fantasy, is that all?_

"I hope the hell not," he mutters.

However this goes, he's going to need to be unencumbered, so he starts to take off all his holsters. But after a moment, there's a strange image in his mind that makes him stop altogether.

"Alright, McKay," he says, "who is this pointy-eared guy in a bright blue shirt you're suddenly thinking about?"


End file.
